Herbs and Trinkets
by beatlee
Summary: Ginny went off with Harry, Hermione with Ron. What became of the boy who could have led Harry's life, or the girl who drifted into their lives in the fifth year? Traces Neville and Luna in life after Hogwarts, how time and maturity makes all the differenc
1. Chapter 1

**None of the Harry Potter characters belong to me**

As his quill followed through to the final sentence of the last parchment, Neville gave a small neat check at the end of it and set the feather of a pen down with a wary but contented sigh. Running his fingers through his auburn hair and kneading the back of his neck, he reached for the glass of lime scented water on his desk and walked towards the window that is now a water-colour piece; with hues of red and brown. The fierceness of the afternoon sun was losing its glow as it now lowered into the depths of the mountains, which has faithfully served as a formidable barrier of Hogwarts all these years, seeing it through its many trials.

As he sipped on his drink thoughtfully, Neville squinted at the sight of a flapping shadow that was drawing nearer in his direction from the horizon, moving swiftly through the vast skies. Moments passed before he recognized it as a thestral, and he felt a familiar warmth spread from his heart to his limbs, his tired eyes relit with a tender joy. The sight of thestrals has always made him feel a sense of belonging—not for what they are, but for whom they represent. Understandably, their short ebony hair holds no close resemblance to her long and pale, corn colored hair; and their bony, structured faces are a far cry from the way her nose turned up ever so delicately at the tip, or the careful arch of her never-ending brows. It _is_ however, the mystique surrounding thestrals that inspired him to draw the connection between them and Luna. And overtime, himself to her.

He'll always remember how he felt their similarity, so stark, between them, when he had first set eyes on her in the cabin on the Hogwarts Express. Chuckling silently now, he thought of how he had so _romantically_ thought of her as a gentle breeze that blew into his life that day and has since swept him off his feet. He had stared, wide-eyed, in amazement at her _unusual_, for a better word, accessories, and was fascinated by the way her gentle voice rolled words from her tongue in waves, specifically the soft waves coming in from the sea in spring, still chilly but with the slightest hint of warmth only the most sensitive can feel. Neville liked to think he was the lucky one. People thought she was weird, just like they did him, he knows. But he had turned out all right, even fighting alongside Harry and the rest. And he had known, back then, that Luna was no spoilt nut like that Moaning Myrtle, who had been trying to drown herself in her very own tears of misery, as always, when she got herself killed, though through more heinous means.

Looking back now, Neville shook his head at the fool he had been, secretly fanaticizing himself as her savior, silently eager to pull her out of her loneliness, when the fact was that she has been, and is still, very self sufficient. Unlike him, she was not self-conscious and did not care what others thought of her. True, she was almost invisible in school, so much so that it took them so many years to realize her existence. But when prodded and given attention, there was a radiance that shone from her core, and she came across as a resilient boulder who upheld her wills and believes, allowing neither discouragement nor mockery to sway her.

By his sixth year at Hogwarts though, it dawned on Neville that he wasn't going anywhere with Luna, so he stripped off his self-proclaimed title as her "wizard in cloak of gold", and soon found, to his delight, an enjoyable and reliable companion in her.

Breathing in the scents of various plants and flowers carried in by the warm summer breeze through the window now, Neville leaned out and closed his eyes, succumbing to the caress of Mother Nature. For a while, he stood like that, his body still, spare for his short, wavy hair blowing carelessly in the wind. Unknown to any onlooker, in the space beneath his closed lids, a thousand memories from several summers ago were playing continuously across his mind, like photos on a roll of one of those muggle filmstrips.

--

"Hey Luna!" Neville called out as he approached the tiny shape sitting cross-legged on the patch of grass by the lake, a book is propped open on her lap, and a short twig loosely secures her tousled, long hair.

"Neville, hi!" she replied, peeling her eyes off her book. The slight smile on her face now curled into a knowing one as she eyed the potted plant in his hand. "What've you got today?"

Neville set his bag down to her right and sat opposite her, cradling the plant under his left arm as he lowered himself.

"It's a Venus fly trap. See how it's got a lid above this tubular thing here? It's what keeps the insect in the bowl." He paused, and continued, "But what's most fascinating is the sap in it, look." placing his finger at the ledge of the hollow, he pointed in. "the poisonous sap causes the insect to die slowly in it…But!…" Neville hurried on as Luna's brows furrowed with revulsion " But, the sap in there has numbing qualities" he paused again for effect, "so _technically_, the bug feels no pain in death!"

Luna nodded slowly now, her glance approving as she looked up from the plant towards Neville, her right hand thoughtfully fingering the eagle's feather on her earring.

"So…" she started, "you're thinking of extracting that property…the numbing property from the sap, perhaps for…medical purposes?"

"Yeah…right on!" A beam spread across Neville's face as Luna grinned. "You're getting better at it, huh!"

This was a game known, played, and perfected, just recently it seems, only by the two of them. Whenever any one of them approaches the other with an unknown object, a new discovery of their fascination, he, or she, would state its properties, as Neville had done, and the other would guess of what use the person thought the object could be. Neville's interest in all things with cellulose, along with Luna's in artifacts and such rendered this game never-ending, never dull.

"Of course I'm improving" Luna spoke with her usual calm, but now with a hint of shy slyness, "won't want you running off sharing your herbaceous treasures with someone else, would I?" she replied, almost whispering the last two words as she turned her head away suddenly.

Back then, Neville had smiled stupidly, not wanting to acknowledge the underlying meaning of her words for fear of disappointment, and had changed the topic. But to this day, he still remembered, vividly, how his mind had swirled with agitation and impatience that night in bed, when all was said and done, at his lack of tact. He had tossed and turned on his sheets ever so often that the bed creaked too, as if clucking at his restlessness. It had taken Ron's shout of annoyance for him to "Quit moving, Neville! Your bed's creaking like the Weeping Willow, for Merlin's sake!" to put out the raging fire, having sprouted from failure, in him, and finally get him some sleep.

Pulling himself through the vacuum of time back into the present, Neville leaned out again to pull the windows back in, shutting them tight. He then poured the remaining water in his glass onto the pot of hydrangea sitting at the foot of his desk and washed the empty glass in the sink at the corner of the room. Taking a last look at the room he'll be missing for the rest of the summer, he closed the door behind him and headed for the teachers' dorm. Hopefully, it'll be empty, so he can start a letter in reply to Ron's latest one, inviting him to the Burrow for the summer, where "someone you'd love to meet will also be there this year". _Ah, what the hell, _he thought, its time he allowed himself to meet someone new.


	2. Chapter 2

**None of the Harry Potter characters belong to me**

Slipping into his loafers, Neville bent down and pulled them firmly around his feet before walking over to the wall perpendicular to door where his full-length mirror is propped. He eyed his ensemble of muggle clothes and decided that he _must_ have improved. He has, afterall, took Hermione's advice to avoid all things spandex, and stuck with the conventional—navy baggy jeans with a shirt, the words "Save the Trees, Recycle!" printed boldly across the chest. Pulling a comb lazily through his hair now, he looked at his reflection and wandered if the "professor look" has crept into the lines of his face in his years of teaching at Hogwarts, just like they had to Snape, McGonogall, and the rest of the professors. For when he was still a student at Hogwarts, he had perceived them as authoritative figures whose life centered only on educating the young wizards and witches of the school. It'll be his fifth year this summer as an "authoritative figure" at the school now, and surely, he must be turning into some sort of a…sack of a professor?

Admittedly, as the years added on as single digits to Neville's age, as his birthday came around, he would feel the slightest sense of desperation creep up his throat, threatening to burst out through his mouth as a strangled cry, or something else. Neville had hoped each year that he'll never come to know in what form his insecurities would manifest if they ever take flight from the depths of him.

But in actual fact, Neville had nothing to worry about, as everyone around him could see that the years have done nothing but compliment his physique and justify the hidden brilliance in him. True, he has not yet received the blessing of starting a family of his own like Ron and Hermione, or Harry and Ginny, whose weddings were held on the same day, in the empty grass field beside The Burrow, when they were 21, and Ginny 20. But as Hermione had mentioned pointedly to Ron on a Sunday morning a few days after their wedding, leaning against the door frame of their own little cottage, a walking distance from the Burrow,

"Neville has definitely lost all his chubbiness as a boy now, hm?" she said, recalling snippets from the wedding she had wanted to share with Ron there and then, but never given the time to, till now.

"Yeah, he's so…fit now, d'you see his arms—"

"—sculpted" Hermione put in.

"Yeah, sculpted," Ron rolled his eyes at his wife's precision, "wish mine's were like his." he murmered, grinning sheepishly as he rubbed his upper arm self-consciously.

Hermione had laughed and nodded her head in the direction of their front yard, asking him to "pull those weeds out, put some seeds in, and you might just get half of Neville's tanned, toned arms". She had barely finished her sentence when Ron reached out suddenly, pulling her in as he encircled her waist with an arm and ruffled her hair with his other hand. He then drew her back into the house, whispering, "I'll show you just how strong I am, little miss judgmental" as Hermione squealed with protests and laughter while shutting the door behind them.

All in all, Neville was unmistakably a late bloomer. His fair share at the attention of Hogwarts' girls came only when he returned at the age of 20, to be the professor of Herbology. Female students had fawned, some discreetly, others more brazenly, at the kind eyes that looked out from his chiseled face, and the way his rough hands, its nails caked with soil and dirt, eased plants out of the soil with such gentleness most only bestowed upon humans, or at the most, animals. But Neville had kept to the role of a dutiful teacher and thus faithfully imparted to his students only the best knowledge there may be.

Stepping out the gates of Hogwarts now, he looked around for signs of any loitering muggles, and seeing none, picked his suitcase up and apparated off to the Burrows, where he hopes to find an enjoyable summer, not that the Weasley's have ever disappointed.

--

Opening his eyes slowly, Neville struggled to his feet as the quaking world around him gave a final, playful twist. Apparating has always got the better of him. Be it the thought of losing a body part during the flight, or landing clumsily at his destination, Neville disliked all things that doesn't keep him grounded, literally speaking, which is why he loves plants, for their closeness to the earth.

In a series of rapid blinking and squinting of his eyes, lush greenery and an expanse of rolling earth came into view. Having landed right in the middle of the Weasley's backyard, Neville flinched as he felt a prick by his ankle, followed by several others in quick succession. He looked down and discovered the cause of his pain—he had disrupted the garden gnomes…meeting. By the looks of it, they were almost successful in uprooting a carrot from the patch when Neville's left foot materialized, stomping the root firmly back into the soil, and scattered the gnomes. Muttering an apology, he bent down awkwardly and lifted the carrot into a position he assumed the gnomes have achieved before his arrival. Straightening up, Neville breathed in the crisp country air that is carrying faint wafts of rosemary, thyme, mint and basil from Mrs. Weasley's herb garden, amidst the more overpowering aroma of freshly baked foccacia and beef stew that must have been sitting on the stove since morning.

Brushing aside the offerings of nature for the wanders of Mrs. Weasley's culinary skills, Neville headed for the cottage without a second thought.

"Oy! Professor Longbottom's here!" cried a voice laden with such jest, it was unmistakably George's.

"George!" Neville exclaimed as he pulled on a straight face, "Fancy detention?" he asked, before grinning widely as he hit the joker good-naturedly on the back. "Where's the rest?"

"They're out front. The guys anyhow. Girls are in the kitchen with mum…kids are in the nursery with Percy and—" George's eyes glimmered with mischief, its intensity as robust as the George of years ago, when they were still students.

"Who?" Neville insisted, whereupon the older boy ignored him, spreading his arms wide open.

"So! Take your pick, where'd you want to be? Out front, or in the kitchen?"

Neville was about to open his mouth when a door to his right burst open and a dizzying array of colors flew at him. The ginger of Ginny's tresses, chestnut of Hermione's curls, corn of…

"Luna?" Neville uttured, to himself.

"Neville!" Ginny exclaimed as she pulled him into a warm hug. "We thought it'd take you forever to get here!"

"You sure took your time in your element out there" Hermione put in, her tone teasing. "We saw you in the garden through the kitchen window" she explained, seeing the befundled look on Neville's face, which gave way to a slight blush at her revelation.

"Ah, heere heere, let me get your things" cooed Fleur, bustling over to Neville's side, her pale hair Neville had mistook for Luna's moments ago now fluttering into full view with her porcelain face, causing Neville to turn a deeper shade of crimson. "You friends can go catch up" she smiled motherly at Neville before drawing her wand and levitating his suitcases up the stairs, into one of the many rooms above.

Turning back to the rest, Neville relayed to them his experience with the gnomes and suggested for Ginny to watch where her vegetables are going. Hearing him, the two girls gushed over how he still frets as much, and is as forgivingly careless as before. Neville ducked his head bashfully, though silently glad inside, as the conversation moved on. As they spoke, he noticed how Ginny seemed to have put on some weight around her waist and chest after the recent birth of James, which bestowed upon her a fuller figure, stripping her of the lithe figure she had as a quidditch player back in Hogwarts. Motherhood has also given her some sort of super-sensory power. She is now more sensitive and receptive to the needs of others; given that she had jumped off the couch to get Neville some bread and soup at his second glance in the direction of the kitchen, and instantaneously shut the windows when Hermione adjusted her sweater more snugly around her. Being a mother now, Neville thought it was perhaps inevitable for there to be slight changes in Ginny. Her concern for those around her is now fine-tuned, and her joviality as a girl is even more pronounced, especially when others show appreciation, through a smile, a wink, or a gentle touch, for her acts of kindness. Hermione, likewise, has finally allowed her feminine side to stand rightfully alongside her intellect. Though still snappy at Ron at times, her chidings were forgiving and merely in jest. Unsurprisingly, she is more widely read now, the difference being that she now accepts humbly that she is not, and cannot be all-knowing. Her keen attention when Neville spoke about the _Sophoticus binerralium,_ an exotic plant from Africa that mimics the stutters of insects to attract and eventually trap birds, filled with heart with happiness at her appreciation. The changes in his friends, albeit minor, made his head spin both with amazement and an isolated, unexplainable sorrow, the cause of it he boiled down to his still being single, and thus being the same, _same ol' Neville._

As he wiped up the last of his soup with the bread, Harry and the rest of the Weasley guys bounded into the room, slapping Neville on the back and pulling him into a slight hug with as much gusto as their wives. Ron then proceeded to teasing him for "hanging out with the girls in here than being with us men outside", causing Neville to flush again, as Bill laughed, retorting "he's _the _real man Ron, charming the ladies" whereupon Ginny took the chance to retort "yeah, he spends more time in the yards, _like a man, _for a day than you in a whole year, Ron!", sending everyone into peals of jovial laughter as Ron's ear tinged with the red of Christmas stockings.

It was delightful being around them again, catching up on the latest news of their lives, laughing and joking about their time at Hogwarts, engaging in heated discussions on Quidditch and the gossips featuring their friends and acquaintances in Hogwarts—Pansy in her high life, Lee Jordan's current radio station, Oliver Wood's latest buy over by some Scottish Quidditch team. Neville was mostly fed news, as he always was, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered when he's with them, not when he tipped over the cup of tea as he leaned in excitedly over the coffee table, or when he couldn't stop laughing when everyone else's laughter had subsided. They were the siblings Neville never had, whom he could lean on in times of need, or just to have a butterbeer with.

After the jug of tea was refilled twice and the pastry platter wiped clean, Mrs. Weasley bustled, timely, out of the kitchen and sent them out to prepare for dinner to be served in the garden. She greeted Neville, a delighted smile on her face, but without much ado as they meet frequently in Hogwarts, since she has been hired to provide the recipes for the dishes served in the Great Hall, and has to be there often to teach them to the elves.

Everyone proceeded like the children they once were to the tasks at hand, and Neville went about bringing the chairs out. Just as he was levitating them from the kitchen out towards the garden through the hall, he heard a soft cry of surprise, followed by a gentle thud, and he rushed out from the kitchen to see what had happened. In the hallway stood a slender young woman with pale skin, a faint rosiness flushing beneath the surface. She was wearing khaki colored shorts that came up to her knees, hugging her hips and legs such that the curve of her hips were prominent. The chiffon of her baby blue blouse quivered in ripples as she rubbed persistently on her waist while she bent down to straighten the chair that Neville appeared to have levitated right into her.

"Hey!" he called out as he walked hastily over to her, sending the chair to the side of the room with a flick of his wand. "There you go…I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

She looked up through her curtain of long, blonde hair and tucked a few silvery strands behind her left ear as she spoke. Her opaque, turquoise eyes shone lightly in the rays of the evening sun that is coming in through the window.

"Non, non, je suis desole" she spoke quickly, shaking her head in embarrassment before a look of shock came over her face as she realized her mistake. "I mean, it iz I who should be sorry. These chairz…I wasn't votching w-where I vos going…and, it's just a slight bruise" she said, pointing to her hips.

"Oh no, no no, I should have watched where I was sending these chairs" Neville emitted a slight laugh, trying, in vain, to come off smooth without trying to hard. "As long as you're fine" he smiled generously. "D'you need some ointment?" he asked, and mimicked dipping his forefinger into an imaginary jar in mid-air and rubbing it on his waist.

She laughed now—a genuine laugh that sounded somewhat like the tinkling of bells, shaking her head as she looked him in the eye.

"I'm Fleur's seester…Gabrielle. You are…'Arry's friend?"

"Oh! Gabrielle!" Neville could have kicked himself for exclaiming so enthusiastically. "I thought you looked familiar. I'm Neville…Harry's friend at Hogwarts"

To his utmost surprise, she's heard of him. Her tone rose and fell in excitement as she explained how she's followed through Harry's adventures, through detailed accounts by Fleur, along with those of his friend's who have remained at Hogwarts during the Final Battle in their last year at the school. Although his face betrayed no emotion but that of amuse, Neville was swelling with pride on the inside and he enthusiastically added meat to the bony, though most accurate, structure of the tale she's heard while they carried the rest of the chairs to the garden.

They had sat down aside each other during dinner, naturally, and to the pleasure of those around them who had planned to add some "zing" into Neville's love life, as Ron had put it when he sent the invitation out a few days before summer vacation started. Through hearty potato and leak soup, _coq au vin_, which Gabrielle helped cook, baked potatoes, saffron rice, and treacle pudding, amidst other dishes, Gabrielle mentioned that she was here for the summer to be with Fleur, which propelled into a full-blown, rapid exchange of the sights she's seen, and "yet to see" Neville put in playfully, of England, which led to him opening her eyes to England from a local's perspective, often interjected by her comments and avid exclamations.

As they spoke, Neville couldn't help marveling at how she was just a child, shivering with cold as she was just rescued from the lake during the second task of the Triwizard Competition when he had first set eyes on her, from afar. He couldn't help thinking that fate worked in mysterious ways. Neither could he refrain himself from the thought that she was much more boisterous, flamboyant, than she portrayed on first impression. The fact that she's not speaking her own tongue, and can yet create such a vivacious air around her is what's causing Neville to step on his brakes, slightly.

She was the type of girl he has avoided as a youth, and kept his distance from as a young man, for reasons developed too long ago, and perhaps too nonsensical, if any were to hear. Indeed, anyone would say it was ridiculous, along with comments about the bones on his face having widened enough over the years to properly house the oddly large jaws he had as a boy such that he now actually _looks good_, and that he now _does, afterall_ have a niche in attracting the opposite sex—first catching their eye with his lean physique and tanned skin, then allowing his sensitive and caring nature to take the stage. But inevitably, there was still a vestige of fear in him, an unfortunate remnant of the past. He has an unseen, but prevalent worry that his insecurities would surge again from the depths of his tamed heart and consume him entirely, such that his behavior towards others would be compromised, especially to those of whom he loves.

As a boy, his grandmother, having went through and survived the grief and trauma of losing her son and daughter-in-law, had no doubt taught him, although cleverly woven between her gentle words and doting gestures, not to expect happiness from the intangible that others will shower upon him in the course of his life. She's warned him of emotions and feelings derived from relationships that can easily be taken away, leaving no trace spare for squandered tears and mental scars. This explains why Neville was so often given a new toy or another from her when he was still a student, _and_ justifies his closeness with plants, a safe relationship that can only backfire through death or injury, which is unlikely, what with Neville's green fingers.

As he's grown and matured however, Neville came to the understanding that his grandmother was not wrong, but her method was not _right_ either. While she's taking the safe side, Neville began to believe that he'll go nowhere, taking the safe side. As long as life is unpredictable, risks have to be taken. So he's been trying to break away from her teachings since…but the old fear keeps haunting him. Like now.

Leaning back into the chair now, Neville breathed in the cool night air, which is mingled with whiffs of sweet wine, grass and baby lotion. He took a look at James lying snugly in Ginny's arms two seats away. The innocence of little James's wavering smile, and the clenching and unclenching of his hands in mid-air above his eyes made Neville think of babies as a sponge, absorbing all the knowledge there is at birth. It made him yearn, for the wildest moment, to be just that—a sponge, filled with empty sacs of air, eager to be filled, or in his case, re-filled, with ideologies that will change the life he now lives. If only someone can show him how.

**A/N: thanks to all of you who've reviewed! They've (the reviews) really pushed me to continue with the story. Sorry this chapter took so long. I've been planning it and adding bits to it everyday, but finally finished up with it only today :D. Feel free to tell me what I need to work on (or just..any comments)! (I know my tenses can get really messed up at times, so forgive me, I'm working on it!) p.s don't get too comfy with Gabrielle just yet.**


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